THE SKY'S THE LIMIT, Part 1
by mabb5
Summary: Sequel to THE BEST LAID PLANS.  Picard's a wanted man and not just by the Federation. Deadly enemies and constant lovers.  This first chapter mainly concerns Jean-Luc and Laren. But I am a true P/Cer at heart, so never fear, Jean-Luc will end up with Beverly. Eventually. And Ro will find her true love - the hard way of course - for nothing ever comes easily for that Bajoran


_It would help to understand this story if you read all 6 parts to THE BEST LAID PLANS. _

_Please note: This chapter is adult because the sex. However, there will be a later chapter that will contain graphic violence and torture. _

_This first chapter mainly concerns Jean-Luc and Laren. But I am a true P/Cer at heart, so never fear, Jean-Luc will end up with Beverly. Eventually. And Ro will find her true love - the hard way of course - for nothing ever comes easily for that Bajoran._

_As for the language, there are a few four-letter words, but their usage is appropriate, I hope._

_Occasionally I write dialogue in French or Klingonese. The translation can be found as part of the text, somewhere adjacent to the original phrase. Especially Picard's words._

_As for this chapter, Beverly needs the comfort of Guinan, and Jean-Luc reveals all of his plans to Laren. _

_All the usual disclaimer's apply._

_**A.N.: April 2013. Reposted story with no major plot corrections. Just fixed a few typos and some continuity errors.**_

**"**_**THE SKY'S THE LIMIT" **_

_**Part 1: "Captains, and Klingons and Lovers, Oh my!"**_

Guinan puttered around the garden. She was impressed by its beauty and variety. Hummingbirds flitted. Butterflies darted. Wonderful perfumes filled the air. Some creature was making annoying chirping noises under a bush. Guinan could stand it in small doses.

"Must be the neighbors," she muttered, as she reached over to pull up a thistle. "Somebody's been pulling my plants, and we all know it hasn't been Beverly. She hasn't been here for months."

She slowly stood up, looking at the sun that was still high overhead. "When is that girl going to get here?" she asked the local chattering Caldosian version of a grey squirrel with a blue tail. The squirrel didn't answer. Guinan reached into a pocket and pulled out raw peanut. "Here you go. But if you want another one, you'd better tell me who's been plucking my special herbs as if they were weeds. This old lady needs her special herbs…" Guinan stopped grumbling when she heard the shimmering sound of a transporter. She ambled toward the cottage pulling off her targ-skin gloves.

Beverly was exhausted. She dropped her duty bag and knap sack, and shut her eyes, trying not to notice that Jean-Luc was no longer sitting in his favorite wing back arm chair by the fireplace.

_How quickly she had become used to having him around…_

"Hi, Kiddo. How ya doin'?"

Beverly opened one eye. Then opened the other one, not quite sure that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing.

Guinan stood in the doorway, framed by bright light. Then Beverly realized the source of illumination might be fabric trim. The El Aurian was wearing her usual sartorial mystery statement, along with a somewhat tall hat with fluttering tendrils. What made this outfit really eye-catching, was the number of different tartans that were sewn together.

"Stuart plaid?" was the first thing she babbled, as she gazed at the hat.

"Black Watch," Guinan replied.

Beverly's knees were weak as she sank down on the ivory Queen Ann upholstered wing back arm chair.

"I've made an eggplant dish I've been dieing to try for ages. Bubble and squeak. Scotch eggs. Lots of things. I've been here for days and have not had much to do but clean up around here, garden and cook. You have enough to feed an army in the freezer. Or yourself."

Beverly's jaw was still dropped.

"Your nosy neighbor, Ruby MacPherson came over. We had a nice chat. I gave her some of my _private recipe _brownies…" Guinan abruptly turned around and looked out the door toward the north garden cobblestone wall. "So that's who's been taking my special herbs."

"Guinan?" It wasn't a question. It was a weak plea. For comfort.

It only took a second for Guinan to quickly enfold Beverly in her arms. "Let it all out, honey. Let it all out…" Guinan rocked her friend back and forth, as if she were the universal mother.

For the first time, since the_ Barton_ was attacked, and Jean-Luc had left, _and everything had gone to hell_, Beverly's rigid control collapsed. She cried.

A long time later, when Beverly's tears were diminishing, Guinan whispered, "I've made some tea. Do you want some?" Beverly nodded. "You'd better," she harrumphed handing Beverly another handkerchief. "I'm down to my last hankie."

A moment later she stuck a mug in Beverly's hands. Beverly sniffed. It smelled like apricots. A sip confirmed that it was apricot brandy mixed with a little tea. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Might help."

Beverly put the mug down. A look of regret crossed over her face. "I…"

Guinan interrupted her. "So you are pregnant."

"How could you possibly… I've only just learned… I've told no one!"

"I always know about such things. Just a talent I've acquired along the way." She hugged Beverly again. "Drink the tea. There's nothing in there that will harm you or your babies. I threw in some herbs that will help."

"What?" Beverly picked up the mug and took another sip. Then she sputtered, "_Babies_? I'm barely five weeks pregnant. Not even the best at Starfleet medical can make that determination without running all sorts of tests…"

"Which you did…"

Beverly shook her head. "Didn't have the time. I just realized yesterday…"

"No matter. Now you know." Guinan patted Beverly's hand. "I told you, I have a talent." She smiled reassuringly at the lady. "I'm sensing two babies."

"Sensing?"

"Never been wrong."

"What are you. Q?" She was just making a jest.

"Sort of a cousin."

Beverly sputtered again. "You're joking!"

"Nope. Ask Q the next time you see him. He doesn't like having me around when he's meddling."

Beverly quickly grasped at straws. "Everything that's happened. Did Q do this to Jean-Luc?"

Regret crossed over Guinan's face. Q's meddling would have been such a simple solution to their problems. "No. Q's had no hand in it. He's been observing now and then, but he cannot interfere."

"But, wasn't Q at the wake for the _Enterprise_?"

"And Geordi's wedding too. But other than learning how to dance the _hokie pokie_, he has been keeping his word. Right now, Q is being _discreet._"

"Impossible."

"Don't I know it. I've already lost my bet in the intergalactic pool over how long he'll be able to control himself."

Beverly mouthed to herself, "_Intergalactic pool?"_

Guinan heard anyway. "Q's meddling propensities are rather well known throughout the galaxies."

She pulled up a rose needlepoint chair to sit next to Beverly. "But never mind all that." She patted Beverly's arm. "You just tell me what you need, and were you really planning on getting pregnant at Jean-Luc's age…"

She ignored Guinan's nosiness for tears threatened as she answered the important question. What she needed was, "_Jean-Luc." _

"Some day. I'm working on that." She knew it wasn't the answer that Beverly wanted.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Lwaxana angrily stomped about her least-favorite decorated bedroom in her house. It was such a simple, plain suite of rooms. Burled woods, cool color tones, straight lines, sueded fabrics, not a gilded curlicue in sight. It's only unquestionable asset was its view. It overlooked her favorite garden with a private entrance to the cascading pools. This room was the antithesis of her taste - and to every other room in her Ambassadresses' palatial manor.

She also loved it.

She paused in her stomping to momentarily touch a small Rigelian burled wood rectangular desk. There'd been reasons as to why she'd never redecorated. It was because once this had been Ian's favorite bedroom. And though she never could bring herself to sleep in it after his death, she just couldn't change anything about the room either.

She had not been that surprised when Worf had chosen this suite of rooms for his own. Even Deanna knew that her bedroom was not a suitable place for a warrior when he needed only to sleep.

Her fingers curled around a model spaceship perched on the desk that her husband had never finished painting. Her determination to protect Ian's daughter was regaining strength.

"You just have to go, don't you!"

Worf ignored his mother-in-law.

"Duty, duty, duty! That is all that you care about!" she wailed. "How could you leave me…us… at a time like this?"

"Leave _you_?" he grunted.

"You know how Deanna is when I am trying to take care of her. And now that you're going, I'll have no one to help convince her to listen to reason!"

Worf grunted, but nodded his head, accepting Lwaxana's observation about the stubbornness of his wife. He'd noticed Deanna's willfulness a long time ago.

"You're her mother. She will obey you," he pronounced.

Lwaxana look at her son-in-law momentarily wondering if he was talking about the same woman.

Even Worf knew that it was only wishful thinking on his part. "I could take her with me."

"By the holy chalice of Rixx, no!" she gasped. "You're going into that _neutered zone_, and I won't have my daughter and my grandson anywhere near such danger!"

"But it's all right for me to go?" Worf sternly asked.

"Heaven's yes. Worf, you're a _warrior_. You need to fight…," She warily eyed him up and down, "…or else something vital might fall off…"

Worf's expression didn't change. But he was amused. He could still count on one hand the number of times his mother-in-law had called him by his proper name. The number was growing.

"Keep Deanna _here_," he ordered.

"Deanna isn't foolish enough…" Her voice trailed off. She began to suspect that her son-in-law did know Deanna better than she did. The young Deanna that had given up Lieutenant Riker so many years ago, would never have thought to leave Betazed. But this new Deanna had taken a Klingon as a husband. She was perfectly capable of leaving the safety of Betazed to go after her husband. "All right. Deanna will try to think of ways to go after you.."

Worf spoke up. "But she has to stay here. The doctors were insistent that she stay until the second trimester." Worf briefly thought of what the doctors had told them. That in spite of her strength, Deanna's body was going to have a problematic time during the early stage of her pregnancy. And if, in order to save Deanna and their unborn son, sacrificing his life would have helped, Worf would have done it without hesitation.

He grunted again. "Deanna knows where I am going, the medical facilities are not designed to handle human/Betazoid pregnancies with possible complications."

Lwaxana was coming to understand her son-in-law a bit more.. "And_ that_ is why you chose the _Cairo_ isn't it, instead of one of the new galaxy class starships. And not just because it's one of the ships that is patrolling the Neutral Zone in search of Picard. _You_ chose the _Cairo_ so that Deanna _couldn't_ come with you. You want to keep her safe too!"

He didn't confirm the obvious.

She harrumphed, "Damn that Picard. The trouble he's caused…"

Worf roared.

Lwaxana waved her hand, dismissing the noise. "I know _he _is worth it. Don't get your Klingon hackles up. I was just venting…"

Lwaxana looked down on the bed - and noticed the way that Worf had packed his duty bag. "You don't know anything about packing, Woofie." She sat down and fingered a sash sticking out of a pocket. "Why, you wouldn't believe the tricks that I could teach you. You'd never get another wrinkle. I've learned a lot traveling around the galaxies as an ambassadress…"

Worf roared again.

Lwaxana wiped a tear from her the corner of her eye. For a moment, she listened to the sounds of the flowering muktok tinkling in the garden as if they could give her strength to continue. Her voice was low. "I don't want _you_ to go either Worf. Can't you do something…" she flailed her arms gesturing about, "…here?"

Worf just shook his head.

"I've already lost the husband that I truly loved to Starfleet. I don't want to lose my daughter… Or you, too…," she sniffled.

Worf stood over her and then reached down, picking her up into a large Klingon bear hug. When her ribs were in danger of cracking, Lwaxana finally stopped sniffling into his shoulder.

"Yet you let Deanna join Starfleet…"

"She wanted to honor her Father. I thought she was going to stay someplace safe behind a desk," Lwaxana shed a few more tears.

Worf chuckled. "Surely you knew better…"

"A mother can hope, can't she…"

Worf hugged her again, then stepped back. "My mother likes you." He didn't have to add that this was a major achievement in his eyes.

"Of course she does."

Worf shook his head. "You're a Klingon at heart - when it comes to protecting your family." Worf picked up his jacket. "Now, I must go and say goodbye to my wife." He waited, then offered Lwaxana his arm. "You might as well come. You would not have left us in peace anyway."

She picked up his duty bag. "Woofie, how can you say that? You know I am the soul of discretion…"

Worf rolled his eyes.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

Picard slowly inspected the room filled with the stench of oil smoke from the free-standing torchieres along the walls and the torches jutting out from the pillars. It was not a large room. And it had no air flow. It just was crowded with vociferous Klingons all waiting for Gowron to make an entrance.

In typical Klingon fashion, while they were waiting, members of this staff meeting were debating each other's parentage, courage, ability to beget sons, and the other usual topics of conversation when Klingon warriors got together with too much time on their hands.

No one spoke to Picard.

Picard gave no sign of being annoyed by the commotions. Though he wished that something would be accomplished at this meeting. He was getting weary of Klingon conferences.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he warily watched a cadet youth place a tall, mustard colored pottery stein with a silver lid, in front of him.

"From Gowron."

Picard nodded and picked up the stein, noticing the Chancellor's House mark incised on the side of the mug. He opened it. He sniffed the liquid; took a sip. He didn't betray his surprise that in his hands was a vessel of hot, authentic, un-replicated, properly brewed Earl Grey tea.

He was momentarily pleased as he drank. And then he wondered what Gowron wanted for this gesture, since he doubted that there was a pot of real tea anywhere else in the Klingon Empire.

_Why had Gowron done this?_

A moment later, Gowron strode in accompanied by roars of greeting and stood in back of his throne chair by Picard. _"QaleghneS!" _was Picard's greeting of respect as he rose, slightly bowing to Gowron. Picard's Klingon linguistic skills were rapidly improving during his stay.

Gowron accepted Picard's acknowledgement, even as he slyly noted his admirals' surprise at Picard's greeting. Some of his admirals were beginning to respect Picard. _Or at least accept him_. Gowron sat down in his chair, and then pounded the hilt of his big _mevak _against the top of the table. "_Ba_!".

Grumbling could be heard, but thirteen Klingons eventually sat down around the oval table. All wore ranks of admirals or captains. Their entourages stood in the shadows.

Gowron looked expectantly at Picard. "Progress?"

Picard pressed a button on his padd. A holographic chart of the DMZ appeared over the center of the table.

"Gowron, warriors…," Picard glanced about the table, "reports of being able to purchase photon torpedoes are found on almost every neutral free-trading planet along all the borders of the Zone - especially those that have major Maquis ties. The planets highlighted are where Quantum torpedoes are sold."

"How many?" Captain Kurn spoke up.

"I haven't been able to purchase one as of yet."

"You're not looking in the right place, Human," a very loud voice announced.

It took Picard a moment to identify the speaker. "Captain Kromm, what information do you have?"

The captain of the new _IKS Bortas_ rose from his chair and slammed his palms, face down upon the meeting table. "Suliban!" he roared.

It took Picard a moment to remember them. "Captain Archer of the _Enterprise_ had contact with the Suliban. But that was in 2151." _And the Enterprise D encountered them. _He silently recalled his meeting with Samuel Clemens.

Kromm interrupted Picard. "Suliban cell ships." Kromm pointed at the hologram. "There!" He pointed at a star system near the border of the other side of the Neutral Zone, in Romulan space. "The Nequencia Alpha System," he announced, as if daring Picard to contradict.

Picard said nothing for a moment. Then he imperceptibly nodded. "Yes, it is possible." He worked on his padd for a moment. "There are two M class planets there that could be used as bases. And four moons." He researched more data. "And considering the Suliban's prior contact with the Klingon empire, it is feasible that they could be working with the Romulans."

"_We _have never fought them in battle! There are no songs of our victory against them!" an admiral argued.

Picard shook his head slightly. "They are not honorable. They would use deceit rather than courage to win their battles. A Suliban cell ship tried to disrupt the time line, and go back and alter Klingon genetics, so that your race would die off."

The roars were loud as the Klingon warriors tried to comprehend an enemy so scurrilous and cowardly.

Gowron again banged the hilt of his _mevak_ against the table. The roaring stopped. "How do you know this, Picard. Who is this Captain Archer?"

"First captain of the _NX-01 Enterprise. _Earth knew very little about Klingons back then. Archer stopped the Suliban from altering the time line, not really knowing that it was the entire Klingon race he was saving."

Muttered words of "_To'ba, Hur'q!" _and "_Impossible!_" could be heard in the dark. The Klingons found it hard to comprehend that at a time when Humans were the enemy, one would have saved their future. They started to question this fact.

Gowron raised his fist. "Are you doubting the words of _my_ Arbiter of Succession?" He dared someone to accuse. The warriors stopped mumbling.

Gowron stared directly at Kromm. "How do you know of this?" He pointed at the star map with his knife.

"I was patrolling that section of the Zone. Heard a distress call. And went to investigate. Found a Vorlo smuggling ship, damaged, stranded in orbit about the third planet."

Picard did nothing overt to indicate that he was suddenly interested in the news about the Vorlo ship. "The _Adama." _His words were softly said but they did catch Kromm by surprise.

"By _Fek'lhr's_ shriveled balls, how do you know this?" Kromm was suddenly becoming impressed with this Human. There actually was a reason as to why Gowron was protecting Picard.

Picard barely smiled. "I'm familiar with smugglers."

Kromm understood. "No honor."

"_HIja'! _So?" Picard wanted the captain to continue on with the meeting.

"The captain of that vessel said that he'd sold his quantum torpedo to the Suliban. He said that they had more in their hold. When they discovered that the Vorlo's torpedo didn't work, they fired on his ship."

"Where did a Vorlo ship get a quantum torpedo?" Gowron was slyly inquisitive.

"From me." Picard did not smile in spite of the look on Gowron's face at this piece of information. Though he doubted if it was unexpected news. "I'd disabled it before I traded it for some hostages." Picard didn't see any reason to explain all of his dealings with the Vorlo.

Gowron held out his hand. A Bekk stepped over to him and placed a tankard of ale in Gowron's left hand. Gowron drank all of it before he spoke. "Kromm, go back to Nequencia Alpha and search all the planets and moons. See if you can discover more." He turned toward Picard. "I shall demand an explanation from the Romulans."

Picard shook his head, and leaned over to whisper to Gowron, "Not yet. What if the Suliban are working with only one of the Romulan factions?"

Gowron nodded in agreement. He would take Picard's advice. He faced his trusted captains. "Go and find out if anyone else deals with the Suliban. _Qapla'!_"

Picard stayed seated. But only because Gowron had his right hand weighing down Picard's left shoulder.

When the hall was empty except for Gowron's private guards, Gowron simply said, "We eat."

With that he stood up, and strode, leaving Picard to follow. Picard quickly caught up.

They walked down long underground corridors lit with flaming torches. There were dramatic shadows that could hide an assassin behind every gigantic pillar. After a while, the architectural design began to change. The ceiling dropped, and the floor was more polished. Spotlights focused on frescos of ancient battle scenes adorning the walls. Picard began to suspect that they were now entering into the Chancellor's palace.

They kept on walking till they reached a huge double bronze door covered with detailed high relief sculptures of _Fek'lhr_ being thrown into the hells of _Gre'thor._.

Gowron splayed his hand against a panel, and the doors swung open. Gowron's guards stayed behind and stood at attention by the doors, as Picard went through it with Gowron. The doors closed.

In contrast to the sparse, harsh nature of most Klingon décor, Picard was surprised by what he saw. There were lit candelabra everywhere as well as recessed light sources. The room had an aura of almost sybaritic luxury. There was a visible comfortableness to the carmine upholstered chairs and benches. There were wine ewers as well as ale kegs placed on a carved wood side table. Near a fire pit was a table laden with food. Some of it actually smelled appetizing.

Picard detected an exotic Bajoran lily perfume. Turning, he saw a rather buxom Nuvian woman waiting in a doorway, holding a stein. She came to Picard and offered it to him.

He took it. And smiled his thanks at her. In a detached way, he studied this surprising companion of a Klingon, for she was native to Risa.

Her dress was simple, very short, and made of blood colored silk. Her long dark hair just rippled down her back. Her arms had many bracelets. With her ivory colored skin, and intriguing, kelly green eyes, she was a strikingly beautiful woman.

He watched her as she silently went and poured Gowron a tankard of wine. A moment later, she reached over the fire pit, and lit a taper, then set the firewine ablaze. Then she brought it to Gowron.

"To finding the _petaQ!"_ Gowron hoisted his tankard toward Picard. Picard did the same with his stein. And as he watched Gowron drink, _he idly wondered just exactly how Klingons avoided extensive burns when drinking firewine_…

Picard then drank his tea, once again questioning where the Earl Grey had come from. There must have been something in his expression.

Gowron chuckled, as he walked over to the chair closest to the fire pit. "Sit, Picard. And drink your tea. You are wondering, eh?"

"Yes, this is a rather unusual drink to be found here. I am rather appreciative of the gesture."

Gowron heartily laughed. "Haven't you heard, Picard? You're a warrior hero. So what you drink must be a warrior's drink. That Ferengi at DS9 is making a small fortune selling it."

"Klingons _like_ tea?"

Gowron's laugh was louder. "No. But some warriors are trying to turn it into a new base for bloodwine."

Picard shook his head in bemusement. _And just hoped that his Number One or Woody Nakamura, never learned about this new Klingon warrior's drink, for he'd never hear the end of it_.

"Eat." Gowron picked up a large fork with something squirming on the end of it. He looked over at his handmaiden. "Qia, bring some of my Berengerian wine for my friend, too." He was still chuckling as he watched Picard inspect the dishes on the table. "Roast beef." Picard didn't bother hiding his surprise. Gowron added, "Klingons are not _Vulcans_, Picard. We eat the hunted meat of a thousand worlds."

Picard speared a large piece of the bloody beef with the sharp blade of a qis. He put it on his wooden trencher. A moment later, Qia placed a large metal goblet of wine by his hand, as well as a loaf of just baked bread. It smelled very good.

Picard picked up another bowl. It was some sort Klingon stew. He really didn't want to know what was in it. But he ladled a large portion onto the trencher. He ate the stew first. And was mildly surprised to discover that though it was spicy, and had a decidedly alcoholic ale-based broth, it was good. He ate all the stew sopping up the broth with crusty bread, before he tackled the rare beef. He tasted some of the wine, and decided that it was a decent purple, though he was not exactly sure of its origins. Still, it was a very good meal.

Gowron was eating everything within reach. He was obviously hungry.

A long while later, Gowron was ready to talk.

=/\= =/\= =/\=

The kiss was familiar. Her scent, her touch, her lips, her nibbling - he was well-acquainted with the lady. So he obliged her by kissing her back.

"You have to go," she reminded him as she stepped back a small bit.

The man shook his head in regret. "I'm needed. I know." He didn't need to ask if she needed him too. He could tell by the way she was still pressing herself against him. And then she wiggled.

She fingered the pips on his neck, then ran her hands over her husband's duty jacket. It was an old style jacket of cropped black suede, even though he was wearing it over one of the newer Starfleet jump suits. She knew exactly where he'd gotten the inspiration for this jacket.

"Maybe you'd better not wear the '_Picard_' jacket when you go to see her."

"No, she'll understand."

"About us, too?" she mused. She knew he hadn't been in communication with his mother for quite a time now, and that their marriage would be just one of many surprises for the lady.

"I have to see my mother. Guinan says that now is the time for me to come."

"And we _always _must do as Guinan says," she laughed. She broke out of the embrace, and then went to sit on the bed in their quarters at the Daystrom Institute. Her smile was mischievous as she looked at her husband. Then she looked about the room.

It was a typical married officer quarters in the old part of the station. Not exactly big, and in desperate need of some paint to cover the standard Starfleet grey walls. But the quarters did have some amenities, such as a large water shower, a small tub, and a top of the line replicator in the kitchenette.

"I think I am going to like being stationed here," she added in a tone of voice as if to reassure her husband that she would be too busy to notice that he was gone.

"That's one of your talents, Robin," he agreed, as he took off his jacket, and packed it into a medium size duty bag. He then went to the closet and removed a quilted grey jacket. "Pretty much wherever you go is an adventure to you, and I've yet to meet people who don't like having you or your rule book around."

"You've been prejudiced in my favor for years."

"Always, Robin. Always." Then he kissed her again.

A long time later, she rolled over and whispered, her voice colored with suspicion. "You're not planning on taking _official _transport, are you?"

"Whatever gave me away?" He reached down and started to pick up his pants that had been discarded rather hastily a short while ago. He wondered where she had shoved his duty bag.

"Your transport left an hour ago."

"I'm going to be listed as catching civilian transportation."

"For a master technician such as yourself, those records are much easier to fake - especially the short term flights." She eyed him warily. "Unless you want me to fix it for you?"

"No, I'll do it."

"_With a blink_ of an eye or are you going to _wriggle_ your nose?"

Wesley grumbled. "I knew that I should have never told you about all those old twentieth century television shows. I am _not _a witch."

She grinned as she handed him a sock that had ended up on her side of the bed. "Nope. You most definitely are not a witch. I think you're actually called a warlock…A very powerful warlock." Her drawn-out sigh was breathy at the thought of his physical prowess.

"Robin, we've had this discussion before. Just because I have unusual powers, does not mean that they are hocus-pocus powers."

"I'm sure that I'd believe the logical explanations of your supernatural abilities, that is if you ever bothered to mention having supernatural abilities to anyone in Starfleet Command."

"Robin," he warned, as he finished getting dressed. "You know there are reasons that I can't yet discuss…"

She interrupted him. "Husband of mine, I like you just the way you are. Rule Number 32, Wes. _If life hands you lemonade, don't try to make lemons out of it. _You're _my_ lemonade_. _And it's a pretty good thing, husband of mine, you're a _wunderkind_. Whenever you do something _amazing_, everyone knows it's because you're Wesley Crusher. And they don't suspect a thing."

"Amazing, huh? So you think I'm _amazing…"_

Her grin broadened. "Actually, what you do to me borders on the very _amazing…_" She lifted her arms toward him.

He groaned. But then he grinned, as he sat back down on the bed. And pulled Robin Lefler Crusher into one very adult kiss. Wesley Crusher had grown up.

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

Ro hid in the night's shadows trying to catch her breath. She was angry, and not that she would admit it, just a little bit scared.

_What the hell were two Cardies doing here?_

It had all started innocently enough. She'd just gone into the _No Name_ bar to get a drink…

It had been a long, tiring day. She and a few dozen other Maquis had been building a new clinic on Macias, one of the M class so-called dead worlds of the Dozarian system. However, with determination, desperation and lots of hard work, that planetary designation would one day be changed.

The Maquis had a fairly well established foothold here, since neither the Cardassians or the Romulans had ever paid much attention to this planet or its out-of-the-way solar system. The Ferengi had been operating a small outpost here with a trading post and a gaming establishment, for decades. What the Ferengi called this out world post was not pronounceable in polite society, so the planet was informally named after a Maquis martyr-hero, Macias. The outpost itself had been nicknamed "Dozer", and it had stuck.

Many Bajorans immigrants had come here to settle. So many, that the last time Ro had visited, she'd helped build a school named after its benefactor, John Luke Galen. _For it was with Picard's money that she'd bought all the building supplies, equipment, technology, and books. She knew that Jean-Luc would always approve of having real books in class rooms._

But now, Ro had a problem. There were two Cardassians on her tail. They were dressed like free traders, but the way they moved said otherwise to Ro.

She'd spotted them when she'd gone into the bar to order an ale. They were in a corner, and when they saw her, she got the uneasy feeling that they were really waiting for her. When they rose up, she dashed out the front door, running down the dusty road toward the post buildings, around a corner and into the shadows. She pulled her phaser, and waited.

Long minutes passed. And nothing happened. _What were those bastards up to?_

After five minutes she stepped closer to the road. Nothing. Another few steps and nothing. She quickly turned around the corner. Then she ran smack dab into a chest - a very big and strong, well muscled, decidedly masculine chest. She looked up and wondered if she was hallucinating. Now she knew why the Cardassians had disappeared. Will Riker was in town.

"Riker," she gasped, as she started to try to straighten herself out. He steadied her. And made no move to arrest her.

"Do I know you?" His voice sounded puzzled. Though he didn't seem to mind holding her in his arms.

Ro was startled. Not quite sure what to do, she stood there. Then she thought to look around to see if there was anyone else with Riker. No one was in sight.

Riker smiled his _lady killer smile #2_, and asked, "I hate to drink alone. Care to join me, pretty lady?"

Ro nodded, still confused. He offered her his arm. Ro ignored it. But she did say, "Lead the way." And they walked into the _No Name_ bar.

A few moments later, a large Romulan ale was placed in front of Riker. And the ale that Ro had previously ordered before her dash out the front door, was returned to her. Riker tried his _lady killer #1_ grin on Ro. "So, where have we met before?"

Ro just stared at him, wondering if he was either undercover - which was a worrisome conjecture - or if he'd just simply lost his mind. She wasn't sure if she should play along.

"My name's Riker."

"I know."

"_Thomas_ Riker." He extended his hand.

Ro's glass slipped through her fingers, plopped onto the table top, and splashed ale everywhere. The barkeep tossed her a towel.

Riker groaned even as he mopped up a few droplets on his sleeve. "You're one of _Will's _women. I should have known. The great curse of my life is that _he_ always meets the pretty ones first."

"I take it that you're a relative?" was the only less inane thing that Ro could think of saying as she mopped up the sticky ale.

"You could say I'm his long lost brother."

"Twin?"

"Something like that." Tom grinned again. "So, are you ever going to tell me your name? Or should I guess?"

"It's Ro. Ro Laren."

"Suits you, Miz Ro." He took a sip of his ale as he motioned to the barkeep for another glass for Ro. He was about to take another drink when he suddenly placed where he had heard her name before. "Not _Kalita's __Ro__Laren__?"_

"_Kalita? _How well do you know Kalita? I haven't seen her in ages."

He interrupted her. "I'd rather talk about the very pretty lady in my company. Kalita can wait." He glanced about the bar, checking to see if anyone was really interested in their conversation. "Let's go some place more private and talk." .

Ro stood up, drained her ale, decided that his suggestion made sense, and then said, "Follow me."

Riker did.

She led him about a kilometer down the road to an open field. She tapped a bracelet on her arm, and then watched the _Galen _shimmer into view.

A low, appreciative whistle pierced the air. "What a beauty! This ship - she's yours?" A door opened and a ramp unfurled down to the ground.

"After you," Ro politely said, motioning with a swing of her arm.

Liking the way it was suddenly becoming a very intriguing evening, Riker climbed up the ramp into the bay of the ship, turned around to try a different boyish grin on Ro, and was met by a phaser blast instead. _On the lowest setting. _He crumpled to the deck.

Ro poked him with her boot. "Whoever you are, _you're no Will Riker…"_

A few minutes later, the _Galen_ was in a cloaked orbit around one of the two moons of Macias.

She'd checked his pulse, decided it was okay, cut the gravity on the ship, and then floated Riker into the small cabin that doubled as a brig.

When she'd first become the acting captain of the _Galen_, she'd enforced the cabin and added additional security elements. A girl never knew when a brig might come in handy.

She made sure the door was locked before she turned the gravity back on.

Then she went to the bridge where she tried to contact Kalita or Tamal. She'd first met them at the Juhraya Colony, when they'd convinced her to join the Maquis cause. Leaving the _Enterprise_ behind had been one of the most difficult things that she'd ever done in her life. And even after she'd resolved certain ethical issues with Jean-Luc, she still had her regrets about some of her choices. But Kalita had helped her.

Waiting for a response, she glanced around the bridge, wishing that Jean-Luc was here. She'd only seen him once since he'd left Utopia Planetia. The Klingons were keeping him too busy. And with little progress being done on his mission if she were any judge.

She sighed.

_Jean-Luc…_

The only time that she thought of him was when she wasn't busy. So for the past four weeks, she'd tried to keep herself very occupied.

Oh, their reunion had been wonderful, for sure. But she'd sensed a change in Jean-Luc. He was different and she couldn't quite place what it was.

_She thought about their last time together…_

**=/\= =/\= =/\=**

After she'd informed Jean-Luc of her _devil's bargain _with Beverly, she'd sat back, straddling him, waiting for him to finish his cup of tea.

Jean-Luc took his good old time doing so. He knew that he should reconcile himself with Beverly's decision, but Laren was making it very difficult for him. For she was pressing herself against him, letting him know that she wanted something more from him than talk. He supposed that she did have the right to expect such behavior from him. But he could not so easily put thoughts of Beverly aside. He needed time to think.

She abruptly rolled off of him.

"I suppose we should get some sleep," she proposed.

"It's been a quite long day, Ro." There was a regretful element to his voice. "In the past fifty hours, I've gone from _almost_ becoming an Admiral, to becoming one of the most wanted men by the Federation."

"An admiral?"

"Yes, a _Starfleet admiral._"

"What did you do to Starfleet to get that kind of punishment?"

Picard's laugh still sounded a bit raw. "It's a very complicated story, Ro. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

"No matter. You'll always be the _high and mighty _starship captain to me…"

He watched as she slithered out of her red jumpsuit, still ignoring her blatant sexual offer.

Realizing that he was not about to do anything interesting to her now, she went into the bathroom, took a sonic shower, and a few minutes later returned, wearing a simple bronze colored cotton shift.

"Move over," she commanded.

Picard surprisingly complied without protest.

She climbed into bed, her back towards him. And waited. He didn't move a muscle.

So she closed her eyes, refused to wipe away a tear that was threatening to form, and went to sleep. Her adrenaline had been high at the thought of seeing him again. Now, it was gone. She crashed.

Picard lay there, not knowing whether to be grateful, or to curse. He did a little of both.

Some time during night, his arm curved over her waist, as he slept. Hours later he awoke, slowly becoming conscious of the warmth of his position next to Laren. They were spooning.

_For a brief period, thoughts of Eline and the many years they'd slept like this, intruded._

It took a few moments, but eventually he moved off the other side of the bed and went into the bathroom. He took a shower, and then stopped to stare at himself in the mirror. He had some decisions to make. And how he would handle Ro would be chief amongst them.

He shaved, and then remorsefully acknowledged to himself that he had been stalling long enough. For procrastination was not one of his more common faults. _It was time to do his duty, albeit a pleasurable one. He refused to acknowledge the regret reflected in his eyes._

He walked into their bedroom, naked.

He knelt by the bed, and leaned over her not wishing to startle her. He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead.

She opened her eyes, disoriented for a second. "Jean-Luc?" She raised her arms as if to entwine them about his neck. But she suddenly stopped as if she needed to ask his permission.

His answer was to press gentle kisses on every ridge of her nose.

"Jean-Luc?" She still didn't quite know how to respond.

He caressed her cheek before he slid her earring off, placing it on the bed stand. He kissed her earlobe, nibbling. Eventually he got around to exploring the curve of her neck, as if he'd never discovered it before. She began to tremble.

He kissed a path toward his goal, sliding his tongue against her lips. She invited him in. His exploration was unhurried, as if only to remind himself of her taste.

It only took a few moments before he began to taste her rising passion. Still, his kisses were leisurely, stoking, requesting and not yet trying to enflame her fire.

She began to sense that somehow _he was courting her. _Her hands could only stroke his head.

Then he stopped her, capturing her wrists above her head. He lifted her up into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. With the other hand he tugged up her shift. She helped him. For a short time, he studied her, her nude body bathed in starlight from the port windows, as if trying to decide the best way to explore all the shadows that made up Laren.

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to slide into bed next to her.

But he didn't. The only answer he gave to her unvoiced question, was to smile. And then he acted. He lowered her flat onto her back, then nudged himself between her legs.

"What…" He had never approached her like this. Not this way.

He only leaned over to place another kiss on her lips, lingering for a long moment, before he began to leave a trail of kisses down her body. Gentle kisses were placed against her neck before they turned into bites. Worshipful kisses were placed on her nipples, before they turned into demanding, hungry kisses as he suckled her breasts. He was fanning the heat between them into flame. Before it became too overwhelming, he stopped cold. Her breathing was ragged as she waited, failing to comprehend by how much things were different, but somehow instinctively knowing that something had changed in him.

He knelt on the deck. Hot lingual kisses - he pressed them against her thighs, then teased the sensitive spots behind her knees. His hands were roving over her flanks, lightly massaging the cheeks of her buttocks. Then he slowly positioned her bottom closer to the edge of the bed.

She could barely wonder. She was captivated.

He stood again, this time lifting up her left leg, resting it on his shoulder before he placed a path of kisses up her leg to her ankle, soothing then inciting the nerves as he went along, taking his time so that she could anticipate what he would do next. And then altering his actions to not do what she'd been expecting.

She was trembling in a state of confusion, now. "Please…" It took all of her ability to focus into whispering that one word.

He stroked her foot, massaging it for a moment.

"Come here…," she managed to whisper.

His response to her plea was again not the expected. He placed her foot against his manhood.

She gasped.

He gasped too, when she wriggled her toes. For a few moments he enjoyed this contact for it was a lover's game that he rarely did play.

Then he moved away. "_My_ game, Laren," he warned. "_It's your turn_."

She resented the words that she could barely comprehend, but that emotion quickly vanished when he lightly touched her_ mons venus, _spreading more fire there_. _Easily, his finger pumped in and out of her moistening channel while he tickled her with another fingertip between the pouting cleft of her outer lips. Upward the inquisitive digit taunted along the soft flesh, to cajole the tiny bud out from under its hood of skin. She groaned and twitched as the dual sensations of his mouth at her breast and his motioning fingers sent ardent waves of pleasure through her body. He felt her clench. And then withdrew his hand.

Then he proceeded to give her right leg the same thorough sensual torture as the left, pausing every now and then to agitate his fingers against her cleft, as if to remind her of things to come if she were patient.

He caressed and stopped. Explored and stopped. Kissed and stopped.

She thought she was going to die if he didn't stop stopping. This teasing was driving her crazy. "_Jean-Luc_…" This time his name was an agonized whisper, as she crossed over from needing to suffering. She ached too much. Her whole being begged for him

"Soon, _ma belle, _soon," he assured her as he moved closer to her, his hand pressed against her vulva as he briefly massaged her tender flesh, firmly circulating his palm against her curly hair. Then he was softly feathering his fingers over the inside of her thighs, barely touching her sensitive skin. There was a flare up within her wherever his hands touched.

He glided his fingers up the curves of her body, lingering here and there, as if he'd never touched her that way before. A brief touch on her breasts, followed by more suckling. Then nipping. She was ready to melt for him if only he'd let her.

"_Your turn_…," he promised even as he seemed to be enjoying the ever-growing frustration he was creating within her.

"When…," she muttered.

His answer was swift. He dropped to his knees, and this time, widely spread her thighs, burying his face between her legs.

She screamed at the first touch of his tongue. Keened with the second touch that explored just a bit deeper. And became silent with the third caress as he began to find wonderful things to do to her. He explored every soft plane with his tongue. Her whole being was intently focused on where his tongue was searching. He was finding nerve ends she didn't know she even had.

Her legs were now positioned upon his shoulders. She was at her most vulnerable. And she was trusting him with every broken moan. She couldn't have taken a deep breath if she'd tried.

He was a master at this sort of loving. Her hands moved against his head, as if to force him deeper. He raised his head slightly, studied her as if to judge her condition, and then went back to licking her. She became so soft and so wet. Her musky scent was an aphrodisiac. Deeper he delved into her, carefully controlling her motions, steadying her bucking as he continued to lavish her. Her body shivered and shivered. He lashed at her softness even more.

Her moaning began in earnest. She was suddenly hyper-sensitive to everything he did - every tug, every pull, every lick. And every intensified kiss.

"More…" she almost whispered.

He nipped at her, and then sucked, swirling his tongue against her sensitive nub, striving to bring about her orgasm.

And she was lost. She flamed. She flared. She was falling over the edge into ecstasy… _Falling…_

It took many moments for her to come to a few of her senses and then realize that he now stood. He was just watching her, as if she were _the_ sight that he wished to behold. Her legs were splayed against the deck. His hips blocked her limp torso to keep it from slipping off the bed. Still, he did not move. He just watched her.

_Waiting._

"Jean-Luc…"

He was tumescent against her _mons, _so she moved against him, offering him a lover's eternal invitation. He shook his head, denying her. "_Your turn_…," he warned.

She then tried to lean forward, so that she could perhaps please him with her lips as he had just loved her. He didn't let her. Instead, he loomed over her, supporting himself upon the edge of the bed.

He was in command. Still.

"Laren…" He thrust forward an inch.

She wrapped her legs about his hips. She quivered as he entered. Big, hard, and swollen, he filled her to the brim. He began to plunge into her with slow driving intensity; with controlled movements that were calculated to drive her senseless. Long strokes, that left her body completely before filling her again. She needed him more, every time he withdrew from her.

Her body's response began to change, to match his rhythm, lifting up to meet him, encouraging him to move even faster, harder, and deeper.

And then he stepped away.

She needed him back, as a muted oath formed on her lips. _"Damn you…"_

"Move over." It was yet another command.

She quickly obeyed going away from the edge of the bed, waiting for him to join her on the bed so that she could mount and ride him as had been their custom.

But instead of climbing next to her, he again opened her legs, stroked her vulva with gentle fingers before he slid between them, and then braced himself over her, their bodies barely touching. Yet he was in command of every brush of their skin against each other. Her body was slick now, waiting to be loved.

A different kind of shuddering started, as fear flared through Ro. She suddenly grasped what he was demanding of her. And _how _he wanted to fuck her.

"_I can't,"_ she confessed, as she strove to battle down the dangerous terrorizing demons from her past.

"You _can_, Laren." He leaned closer to her ear and licked her ear lobe, then her neck, nuzzling the hollow of her throat. "You _can_, Laren. Place my cock in you _now_." He gently bit her lobe, sending shivers throughout her nerve endings.

She turned her head back and forth in rejection.

"_Trust me." _

Naked fear warred with desire.

"_I am here for you, Laren. C'est pour toi que je suis là. Come, take me."_

He pressed gentle kisses against her closed eyelids, whispering soft nothings in French. "_Je t'adore."_

She denied him.

He kissed her. A deep, French kiss, reminding her with his tongue, what he wanted to do with her body if she would but permit him. She hesitantly responded, as if her mind was forgetting her terrors.

He didn't move. But he whispered again, "_J'ai confiance en toi. - I trust you."_

She prayed that the only vision she would be hold was his face, and not some horrible image of a nightmare from her past. She bravely opened her eyes. Tears formed as she saw only him.

Still he didn't move. He waited. _"Trust me, Laren…" _His voice was darkly hoarse now, as the strain of being so in control was finally taking its toll.

Hazel-grey eyes captured her shimmering brown-eyed gaze. He pressed an almost innocent kiss against her trembling lips.

She hesitated for the longest while. Then, almost with a movement she couldn't control, her hand reached down to grasp him, to guide his manhood into her body. _Her need outweighed her terror_.

He gasped at the touch of her fingers. And then he smiled before kissing her; a deep kiss now. A hot kiss. He was reaching the end of his patience.

With her touch, he slowly moved forward, filling her. Then he stopped. And waited again.

"Whenever you wish to begin, _ma belle._"

She remembered all the words ugly men had flung at her over the years. All the dirty, filthy, insulting, crude words that the Cardie bastards had said before they followed with brutal acts of rape against her body.

All the therapists in the Federation had never been able to remove all of the pain within her psyche.

_But he could. _

Those two words - _ma belle_ - finally poured healing waters over her soul. She would never forget what had happened to her. But it didn't matter any more. He was leading her from the darkness. Her desire for him was stronger than her fear.

She wrapped her legs around his hips. His body rocked against her. She now gloried in his possession.

He began pushing, now that he had all of her cooperation. Strong strokes, building strokes, luxurious strokes, demanding strokes. And then quick strokes. And she met every one, as wonder began to grow inside of her. He was giving her the gift of her freedom.

"Hurry…," she begged.

"No…," was his answer. He moved again, this time lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders And waited.

Anger rose at his denial of her wants. "Comfy?" she managed to ask as she was really growing tired of waiting. She retaliated and reached down and fingered his scrotum Then she tightened her internal muscles to strongly grip his manhood.

She thought she heard him chuckle as his siege of her body was encouraged. His demands changed. He began pounding against her. And for the first time, he was losing control. And taking her with him.

Her fingernails scraped against his shoulders, as she matched his movements. And then she came.

One final thrust and he joined her, achieving his own release in her completion. They collapsed against each other. But he didn't leave her body. Not just yet.

She luxuriated in the feel of him, pressed against her. It had been too many years since she's felt this kind of sensual pressure from a lover. Her fingers lazily numbered every vertebrae of his spine as if she was finding it hard to believe that she had done what she had just done. She had never thought that she would welcome a lover like this again.

They were quiet for a while; their breathing was almost in unison.

Her senses were still reeling though she was trying to pull herself together. She had a feeling that she would need all of her reserves tonight. "What was…"

He chuckled before silencing her words with a kiss. "For your enlightenment, Laren, it's called the '_missionary position'_.

She had enough energy left to swat his behind. Several times.

He chuckled again.

Something stirred.

And then he said something that reminded her of his power over her. _"Your turn…"_

He rolled, pulling her with him until they both were on their sides facing each other. One leg was between his legs. The other was draped over his thigh. It was a comfortable position.

"I don't think I can…"

"_Courage, ma belle…"_

His response began with his fingers leisurely exploring the planes of her body again. His hands roamed everywhere, playing with her. Pushing and pulling, creating sensation after sensation.

"Why…", she whispered.

He wouldn't answer that question. "_Ma belle_, do you want me to stop?"

"Oh, no…"

He laughed even as he brushed a thumb over her dusky brown nipple. It hardened. He substituted his tongue for his thumb, scraping it gently with his teeth. Then he abandoned it to go in search of her other breast. For a long time, he played with her breasts using both teeth and tongue. Tugging against her nipples, wondering in the feel of her velvet soft flesh, circling her aureoles with his fingers, feeling how hard her nipples were growing under his manipulations. He found such pleasure in arousing her.

The heat of his mouth burned into her body's core. She was wanting again. And he was hard enough to assuage her needs.

Her hands were suddenly greedy as they traveled over his skin before she reached down to massage him, to pay him back for his sensual torture. She circled his thickness with her fingers. She was finding it amazing that this manliness of flesh and bone could bring such pleasure to her. She sat up placing soft licks along his manhood. His groans were his only response. Emboldened, she took his mushroom tip into her mouth, as she sought to please him as he'd touched her.

Her touch was too stimulating. He brought her lips back up to meet his. Then he quickly moved. He embedded himself within her. She welcomed him back.

This time, when he moved bringing her with him, it was to roll onto his back. She willingly followed, riding him astride, finding comfort in the familiar.

For a moment she considered him. He'd been so in control during their lovemaking, that she felt stirrings of resentment against it. _She could play his game too._

She leaned over to kiss him; her hands exploring. . The she contracted her muscles, sharply. She was manipulating the thickness, the hardness of him. She felt him jerk in reaction. She bit his ear.

"_Your turn…," _she warned.

She bucked. And she began to pump him. Her hips rose up and down, gyrating against his strength. She was going to drain him. His uncontrolled orgasm exploded within her, quick firing her own response.

She could barely breathe as she felt his pleasure. She was controlling him now, as much as he had dominated her. She closed her eyes as their pleasures coursed, mirroring each other..

Slowly she left his body, satiated.

"_Tu es magnifique…"_

_She didn't need a translator for that lover's nothing._

He reached over and kissed her as if thanking her.

She didn't understand everything that had happened between them, but something significant had changed in their relationship.

He trailed a hand over her feverish dampened body, as if to remember the feel of her skin.

"No more," she begged suddenly too tired to do more than protest.

"Later," he promised.

She rested on top of him, against his chest, wrapped in his arms. Still trying to make sense of everything that he had done. "_Why_?"

He didn't misunderstand her question. "I _always_ knew you were brave. I just needed you to remember it too…," he murmured.

"_Why_?"

She was suddenly close to tears.

He kissed the threat of them away. "I wanted you to be fearless with me, _Laren_… The way you always should be." He kissed her neck. "Because _I trust you_. I _trust __in__ you, ma belle…" _

And then he drifted off into sleep.

For a while she tried to make sense of everything he had just done to her. But it was too much. She would think later. Right now, she was content to stay where she was. _In his arms_.

When he awoke, Ro Laren was no longer in his bed. He went to the bath and performed his ablutions. He quickly dressed in an olive colored shirt and pants. When he returned, he noticed that the sheets had been changed, the bed had been made. She had tidied up the cabin a bit.

"Laren?" he called out.

"In the galley."

He walked over and stuck his head inside the small, well-equipped kitchen.

"Making a hassa leaf omelet," she explained. "Put the toast on," she ordered.

In quiet harmony, they fixed their breakfast. He was somewhat amused by this domestic side to Ro. She almost looked cute in her turquoise dress and navy blue apron. It seemed out of character - a side to Ro he hadn't noticed before.

After they had eaten, Ro poured some more tea for Jean-Luc, and a second cup of strong, sweet coffee for herself. Picard leaned against the back of the booth to their dining nook. "It was good."

She didn't want to start babbling because he'd just complimented her. Instead she asked about her friends. They discussed many things from Deanna's interesting marriage to Geordi's wedding. And they still managed to avoid speaking about what had just happened.

And then he finished his tea.

"I have something to discuss with you, Laren."

She put her coffee down. She didn't want him to see her trembling hand. "How bad is it?"

His smile was reassuring. "It's not what you are imagining, Laren." He put down his cup, and stood, nodding his head toward the bridge. "Come."

First she put their dishes in the cleaning unit. Then she followed him.

He sat down at the captain's console, as if he'd never even considered any other chair for himself. From his jacket pocket he removed a data chip.

She suddenly remembered another chip that she'd received from him. "I never did thank you for your message, Jean-Luc. For letting me have access to your Nagus accounts."

"I had no doubt that you would find a way to escape from the _Cairo._"

"With your help." He didn't deny it. She took the position next to him. "I still don't understand, though. Why did you put me through all that? I could have beamed directly over to the _Galen_. Why did you have me arrested? Why did you make me want to hate you?"

"Do you still hate me, Laren?"

"I haven't quite made up my mind."

He found her entertaining, but he did have more serious things to do than playing around with Laren.

She sensed the alteration in his attitude. It was time she learned what was really going on between them. It would only be much later that she would realize how he had dodged her original questions.

He studied her as if he was making a decision.

"What?" Her voice was wary now.

"I am placing my life in your hands Laren."

"_My_ hands?"

For a moment he indulged himself with playing the gallant, clasping her right hand, bringing it to his lips to press a warm kiss against her knuckles. Then he released her hand.

"What I am about to tell you is secret. It is vital that it be kept."

"Of course."

"Tell no one, Laren. Not even the people that we both trust."

"Riker? Crusher?"

"No one." Again, he studied her face, and this time he had found an acceptable answer.

"Your word, Ro?"

"Yes. I agree."

For a moment, he smiled at her as if he really and unequivocally did believe in her

Her throat choked up, as unbidden jubilation rose to fill her soul. Ro finally knew what this request really meant. He _trusted_ her. Jean-Luc Picard really _trusted_ her - _again. He was giving her a third chance.._

"Ro…" He had changed into_ Captain Picard _in demeanor and attitude.. "I am on a special mission that is absolutely vital to the safety and peace of the Federation, her allies - and the Maquis."

"Saving the universe again?" She didn't mean to be flippant, but she could barely contain her rising apprehension.

He understood Ro well enough now, to know why she had said it. He almost smiled. "Yes. Actually, I am following _your_ suggestion."

"_To join the Maquis?"_

His expression was self-deprecating. _"_No, Laren. I am actually here to solve the conflicts in the DMZ."

"Yet, again," she muttered under her breath.

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I'm to negotiate an honorable peace and rewrite that fiasco of a Cardassian Treaty."

"You're here to bargain with the Cardassians, and the Romulans… and the Maquis?"

"Unofficially - behind the scenes. It's one of my several missions. I am to try to at least bring all parties to the table, and then see if I can create a fair, acceptable treaty for everyone."

"But what about the Federation accusing you of treason? Broadcasting to the universe that you're a wanted man? A disgrace to your uniform? Offering a reward. Is it all a ruse?"

"It's no ruse. I really am a wanted man."

"But if you're negotiations represent the Federation…"

"If I succeed, the Federation will officially recognize my efforts. If I don't, then I will remain a hunted man for the rest of my life."

"But surely your friends know better…"

"You would think so." He rubbed his jaw, remembering. "Riker slugged me. So did Worf, come to think of it."

She tried to envision that scene. And couldn't.

"There are those who do believe I have betrayed my sacred oaths. If I am caught by Starfleet, I will be arrested and charged with treason. And I can expect no rescue or mercy from certain quarters."

"So this is where it just gets complicated?"

"Just one of many complications, Ro. Only two people know the real reasons for my being in the Neutral zone as a condemned officer on the run."

"Mr. Data, I presume?"

"Yes, and Rear Admiral Alynna Nechayev."

That name surprised her. "What about Worf? I sort of heard that he enlisted the aid of the Klingon Empire to get you away from Earth."

"Worf is involved, but he does not yet know my purpose."

"He was just being Worf." She sighed, wishing that she were capable of such blind loyalty. But it was her suspicious nature that had kept her alive so far.

"I will eventually have to clear my name. After I complete my missions."

"Yes, that much I've already figured out. Someone in the Klingon Empire learned about your purchasing the _Galen_ and created a ghost ship in order to frame you."

"I already have a pretty good idea who was responsible for that. A discommended Klingon House seems to be responsible for that disguised ship."

"Which House? Are they dead, yet? What's Gowron doing about them?"

"_Bloodthirsty wench,_" he thought to himself, somewhat pleased by her attitude. "Gowron is doing nothing for now." On her skeptical look he added, "In order to get _entrée _to certain groups, it's best that I be an outcast; a disgraced officer. When the time comes, the guilty will be served with Klingon justice for the innocents that they killed." He did not disguise his desire for the vengeance to come.

"Computer, play visual." Holographic images appeared of the attack against the _Clara Barton, _the three cargo ships, and a squad of space cadets that Will Riker had been training.

"Watch the battle, Ro."

A few minutes later he froze the image. "What did you see, Ro?"

She considered his words, analyzing what she had observed.. "Not the Maquis," she bluntly stated as fact.

"Agreed. Why?"

"The brutality of it. Riker's cadets - the three that were killed - their ships were disabled from the fire fights. Yet the attacking ships kept firing on them until they were destroyed even after they'd stopped being a threat."

Picard nodded. "Go on."

"The quantum torpedo that was used. It was aimed at the center of the saucer of the_ Barton _and not at the warp drive. They didn't want to disable the ship. They wanted to destroy it. A good thing that it was a ship with the upgraded shields."

"I agree, Ro. The Maquis would have assaulted the ships in order to get the supplies. They need them. They wouldn't have attacked to destroy what they need."

"If not the Maquis, who, then?"

"I don't know for sure." He commanded the computer to continue. "The attacking ships beamed out cargo from the two supply ships, but then they dumped it outside the Badlands."

"They _spaced_ cargo?"

"And then they fired on it, destroying most of it." He pointed at two lights moving on the display. "Two of Riker's cadets, Bishop and Dunham, followed the attackers. They tracked the marauders into the Badlands until their ships ran out of fuel."

"Skeeter ships. Not long range fighters." Ro shook her head in amazement. "Talk about courage…"

"I agree."

"What happened to them?" For being stranded in the Badlands, without fuel, was not a good way to die.

"The _Bozeman _found them in time."

Ro was surprised. For she'd been on board the _Enterprise_ when they had encountered a ninety-year-old starship lost in a temporal time loop. She was glad that Captain Bateson was still on active duty instead of having been forced to retire.

Picard added, "I believe when Will Riker becomes captain of the _Enterprise E_ those two cadets will become part of her crew. I know that if I were still captain of the _Enterprise_, I would want them as part of my crew."

"Unless they screw up like I did."

For a second the Starfleet officer disappeared, as he shared the moment with Ro. He became all business again, as he continued. "Mr. Data deduced from the data that the cadets provided, that the attackers went through the demilitarized zone. They crossed over into Romulan territory."

"And they weren't challenged by any Romulan vessel?" Ro asked.

Picard paused the image. "Apparently not." He continued with the display. "Ro, I'm not here by _chance_. Nechayev, Mr. Data, as well as myself, devised a plan to send me into the DMZ."

She considered his words. "For more than just trying to broker a peace?"

"Right now, the greater danger is the source of the quantum torpedoes. How are the renegades getting them? Who is providing them - and funding them?"

Ro almost spoke out loud _Don't look at me…_ but thought better of it. "Who?"

"For some time, I've believed that there is a shadow faction within the Federation. And probably within Cardassia and Romulus as well as elsewhere. For whatever purpose, it unites people in power, whether they be politicians, businessmen, diplomats or even Starfleet personnel. Admiral Nechayev agrees with me about the probability of a shadow force behind certain recent events. Things happen that seem to benefit unconnected groups, and yet, there is an overall sense of cohesion to these disparate actions. Mr. Data has been examining everything, to find support for my suspicion of such planning."

"Is it Section 31?"

"It's possible that it is an offshoot of that clandestine group. They did have autonomous cells."

From what little she knew of Section 31, anything was possible. "Any clues as to who is actually making the quantum torpedoes?"

"There's a reason why you scored so well in your tactical classes, Ro. You readily realize the crux of the matter." He nodded toward a screen. "Every manufacturer of the torpedo has records to prove that the zone's quantum torpedoes were not made by them."

"And yet we have torpedoes."

"Exactly. So either there are some major difficulties with the manufacturing process, the security protocols, or one or all are producing the quantum torpedoes off the records."

"How can that possibly be done?"

"Mr. Data is investigating."

She thought of something. "Maybe there's another plant, somewhere."

"That possibility has already been considered. But so far, there is no concrete evidence to support it." He stood and pointed toward the line of demarcation. "The only place where we cannot thoroughly investigate is the Romulan Empire."

"A rogue Starfleet officer who has joined the Maquis with a fast ship has a better chance to reconnoiter than a Federation starship."

"Yes. The torpedoes appear to be coming from inside the Federation going outward, and not coming inward through the Neutral Zone."

"So what exactly is your mission?"

"To identify the traitors, Ro. To uncover this faction inside of Starfleet and the Federation. To stop them. To try to breech the rifts and grave suspicions that these machinations have generated. And then, if possible, to negotiate a workable diplomatic peace between all the parties." As an afterthought, he added, "And of course, to restore my reputation."

"Is that all?"

He scowled at her.

She ignored his look. She no longer quaked when he glared. "You set yourself up to be blamed?"

"Yes. Mr. Data suggested that we wait for something to happen, rather than try to create an incident ourselves. Once the attack occurred, I decided that now was the time to act."

She eyed him. "And?"

"Yes, Ro, I have been planning this for a while."

"And what part do the Klingons play? Protection? Assistance?"

"Some of both, as long as Gowron in is power. Starfleet knows that the Klingons have offered me sanctuary. As long as I am protected by Gowron, I should be safe."

Ro snorted in disbelief.

He ignored her. "Starfleet Command probably will be able to track my whereabouts on occasion, but they won't be able to get to me. Not easily, at any rate. Klingons can be rather formidable."

He handed her another data chip from his pocket. "This is the contact information on how to reach Mr. Data or Nechayev."

"Nechayev is expecting _me _to call her?" She was having trouble believing that possibility.

"Try to contact Mr. Data first. It would probably be the wiser course of action."

"What if something happens to one or both of them. And they can't testify to clear your name?"

"Then John-Luke Pickard_, entrepreneur_ becomes the title of my new career."

She was troubled by his selflessness.

"And what of Beverly?"

His voice betrayed no emotion at all when at last he answered her. "_She cannot be involved. She must not be involved." _

There was a finality to his tone that surprised her. She knew that deep in his heart he still loved Beverly.

He was doing all this in spite of the fact that his future with Beverly was in grave jeopardy. Somehow she didn't think that Beverly would have agreed with his decisions. She even wondered if he'd even told Beverly what he had done_. And guessed that to be unlikely._

And then she finally came to understand everything that he really needed from her. He wasn't just simply trusting her with his life. He was trusting her with his mission. A mission which was more essential to him than his very existence.

"I can't imagine that Riker and company are not doing anything and everything to clear you name."

"True. They are trying. Mr. Data will run interference, if necessary. If and when the time comes, I hope that they will be fully informed about everything one day. But not just yet. Right now, they have to fulfill Starfleet's expectations of their behavior.'

"It's a dangerous game you're playing, Jean-Luc."

"True. It's a risky game that I am asking you to play, Laren."

She didn't need to be told this. But she was accepting the role she was to play. "So what do you want me to do?"

"First, I need to get to the Klingon home world without getting caught."

"Easier said than done, Jean-Luc." Ro began working her padd to figure out possible routes.

He stood as if to leave her alone.

"Jean-Luc, is there a time frame?"

He considered his answer. "Obviously, the sooner the better, but since I was rescued by a Klingon cargo vessel that turned into a smuggler's ship under Starfleet Command's very nose, I would expect Starfleet Command to anticipate my destination as Qo'noS."

"They're going to be gunning for you. You just ticked off quite a few people."

"No doubt."

She nodded. "I'll find a back way in to the Empire that they won't anticipate."

"You are one of the few people that I believe can actually achieve that, Laren."

Hours later, they agreed on the routes that they would try.

Then she chose to fix their dinner. Idly, she watched him stalking about the common area as if he were looking for something. _Or some things_.

"Figured out all the changes, yet?" she casually asked as she set the table.

He eyed the rust upholstery, the dark grey pillows, the bronze tint to some of the bulkhead walls. He didn't say anything though. Teasing Ro about her unexpectedly domestic side was best left for another day. He nodded toward the weapon controls. "You've upgraded. I noted the major updates to the dorsal and ventral phaser arrays."

"The very best that Ferengi money could buy. We've now got nine phaser arrays, not to mention the best sensors, and a bit more, here and there." She reached under the conference table that doubled as a formal dining table. She pulled up a disruptor. "Old Bajoran Freedom Fighter trick, Jean-Luc. There are hidden weapons by every station, under every bed, etc.

"Good." He glanced toward the corridor that led to the sleeping quarters. "You did turn the back quarters into a brig."

"Just in case, Jean-Luc. It can be turned back into a cabin when we have guests. And the weapons in that room are cloaked. Programmed only to recognize either one of us in order to drop the shields." She nodded about the room. "Most of the hand weapons are cloaked - biometric shields. And will only respond to our touch. Though you can order the computer to override the precaution if we have friends on board."

"How many, and where?"

"I've sort of lost count. I'll show you everything after we eat."

She left him as he mulled over the extent of her new security precautions. Walking back into the galley, she checked on dinner. The ship had a top of the line replicator, but there were occasions when Ro just simply liked to cook.

He followed her, noted where the weapons were hidden in the kitchen, then sniffed. "It smells good. What is it?"

"_Bouef Bourguignon_." She pronounced it correctly. She didn't have to see his face to know that he was surprised.

"Go find a red," she ordered.

"Red?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to serve with beef? Granted it isn't quite real beef, but it comes close."

"Red _wine?"_

"In the left storage compartment. Under the crate of extra ship mines. Look on the floor."

He shook his head as he went to search storage. When he returned, he had two bottles. And he was still shaking his head.

"_Sirius Bordeaux? Château d'Angludet Margaux? __And__ shoulder mounted cross polarized particle weapons?"_

"There's an old Ferengi saying about how one can never have too many weapons or too much wine._"_

"Why wine?"

"I had a lot of time on my hands since I became both acting captain and crew of the _Galen._ I became interested in French wines. And at a stop at Ootzey, I mentioned my interest to DaiMon Behlk. A couple of days later, he told me he had some wine."

"These bottles look genuine."

"I'm not the best person to judge the contents, Jean-Luc. You are. I've only tried the _Vin de pays _" She grinned. "It tasted pretty good to me."

He considered her words. "And you were already anticipating my presence here to judge?"

"Let's just say that I had a feeling you couldn't keep yourself out of trouble."

"That's my line, Ro." But he was smiling, as he opened up the Bordeaux. After pouring two glasses, and letting them breathe, he finally tasted the contents.

"Well?" She brought their dinner, placing salad and her beef creation onto the table.

"I think that you'll like it." He drank some more. "Did you buy this wine, Ro? If so, it's a surprisingly good purchase."

"The cases were a gift from Behlk."

Picard hid his trepidation at this bit of news. "And what does DaiMon Behlk expect from us in return?"

"Actually, I'd just placed the order for the supplies to build the new school on Macias. It was a considerably large order."

After take a few more sips of the wine, Jean-Luc got around to asking, "_School?"_

"The _John Luke Galen Academy_."

"You didn't…"

"Already built, _Johnny._" She hadn't called him by that nickname in a very long time. "I've got plans for a medical clinic in the works too." She paused, then asked, "That is, if I still can access the Bank of Nagus accounts."

"I don't think that a school and a clinic qualifies as an action against the Federation, Laren. As long as you use your good judgment, you can do as you wish."

"To help the Maquis?" She just had to prod him.

"To help _people, _Laren. If someone who needs your help happens to be Maquis, it still is only the humane thing to do."

"I think I'm beginning to see why Starfleet thinks you've betrayed them, Jean-Luc." She sat down and poured a vinaigrette over their greens then handed him his plate. She had to know. "Aren't you going to ask about the weaponry purchases?"

"If you'd given any weapons to the Maquis, you would have mentioned it."

"You certainly don't sound like the hard-nose captain that used to terrify those of us _below decks."_

"When I'm around you, Laren, that hard-nosed captain is never far from the surface. You do have that effect on me." He ate a forkful of the salad. "Aged _di Reggio Emilia _Balsamic vinegar? Israeli virgin olive oil?"

"Behlk threw that stuff in too. He thought it would work with hasperet. It does."

Picard shook his head in bemusement as he ate his dinner. _He wondered why the Ferengi had learned so much about Terran foods…_

"So, _Johnny_, tell me about how you learned so much about wine?"

"My family has been making wine at LaBarre, France for centuries. It's what every Picard sire expected of his sons."

"And did you?"

"For a time. Of course I learned the business. It was the only way I could convince my father to let me study everything else that I wanted to study." He shook his head as he remembered everything about those arguments. "Matters weren't helped by my older brother Robert, either."

"How so?"

For a moment, he didn't answer her. He was lost in the memories. "Robert was the perfect elder son. He was everything that my father wanted. In a son."

"And?"

"I was not."

"You wanted the stars."

"My father considered my desire to be an insult to his family heritage. Robert, on the other hand, wanted the earth. Rene was different." His voice trailed off.

"Rene?" her voice was soft as she prodded him.

"My nephew. He was like me. The stars were in his blood too."

She'd noticed the way he spoke in the past tense.

"What happened?"

"A fire. They were both killed." He finished off his glass, and then poured some more wine. "It happened right before the _Enterprise_ crashed on Veridian III."

"_By the prophets_…"

He acknowledged her concern. "I'm still coming to terms with it all." His voice cracked as he added, "The only thing is, if I never make it back to Earth, there isn't anyone who can continue the centuries of my Picard family tradition." Whispering, he added, "I never wanted to become the _Comte de Holl - _to ever inherit the title from my brother… _Not over their bodies."_

_Comte de Holl._ She didn't know what that was. But she did know very well the kind of grief he was feeling. _"_You never had any children?"

He briefly thought of Mirabor and Batai. "None that are living, Laren."

She chose her next words carefully. "Do you want children?"

"It's too late for me." He pulled himself away from his sadness. He looked at Ro. "Do you want children?"

This was too dangerous a conversation for Ro Laren to be having with Picard. Her denial was automatic. "I'm not the motherly type."

Picard didn't quite believe her. And he actually would have agreed with her about _dangerous conversations _if she'd said anything about them aloud.

"Up for dessert?"

He poured more wine into her glass, before adding some to his own. 'What goes with red wine?"

"My special Tuwaly pie."

"I had it once on DS9."

"Not like mine. It's home-made with the Ro family special ingredients."

After tasting the sponge cake like dish, he realized that the special ingredient was Bajoran fruit brandy. It was delicious.

After he cleaned off the table, and put the dishes away, he picked up the second opened bottle, and then went into the ready room where Ro was already working.

She didn't say anything as she watched him pour more wine. "I'm working out what _I'm _going to be doing while you're on Qo'noS."

He sat next to her on the couch. "And?"

"I'm going into the weapons brokering business. I'll start visiting all the more free-wheeling trading outposts, and see if anyone is interested in selling me quantum torpedoes." She waited for him to protest. He didn't. Not sure whether to be pleased that he was letting her be her own woman, or disappointed that he wasn't going to object to her exposure to danger, she continued. "I may start on Thelka."

"Won't DaiMon Behlk find it suspicious that you're now looking to buy more quantum torpedoes?"

"Possibly. But along with everyone else in the Zone, he's bound to know by now that you're a wanted man." Before he could voice a protest, she added, "I'll point out the greater profit margin for his business if you're now interested in making a substantial profit instead of foolishly wasting your considerable talents on the Federation."

"Be careful, Ro."

"Don't worry. I'm going to visit lots of outposts, and talk to every friend I know. If there's a real source in the Zone, I'll find it."

She picked up her wine glass and tasted it. "I rather like this…", she glanced at the bottle, "Margaux."

He put down his glass. "How long to the Klingon Home world?"

"We'll be flying safe for at least thirty-eight hours on the course I've charted. After that, we'll have to be very cautious." She drank more wine. "And _lucky._"

He raised his glass up in a toast. "_Bon chance."_

She raised her glass up too.

"By the way, I've _really_ upgraded the sensors. Equal to those that were on the _Enterprise D_."

"I'd noticed."

"Cost a lot."

"I'm not complaining."

He suddenly leaned in and kissed her firmly. "I knew that you would think of everything this ship needed, and then do it. I am appreciative."

She broke away from him, troubled.

"You're _using_ me."

"Meaning?"

"You're _different_. You've changed from our time on the _Adama." _An ugly suspicion suddenly seemed to be quite logical. Her anger started to flare._ "_I don't need to be bribed with magnificent sex to help you, Jean-Luc. I'm willing to do _anything_ to help the Maquis cause."

For a second he looked at her in disbelief, though his ego did make note of her _great sex _remark. Then he started to laugh and laugh. It had been a long time since he'd heard something this funny.

His laughter did little to soothe her righteous ire.

"_Oh, Laren_…"

She really wanted to hit him but instead displayed rather remarkable restraint for her. She hid the part of her soul that was scared that her accusation was really based in the truth.

Shaking his head in amusement, he finally had enough breath to remark, "Ro, I haven't laughed like that in a very long time You really don't understand, do you?"

She shook her head, afraid that if she spoke, she'd lose her temper.

"Of course I'm different. _We're different._ And it's not because of some Machiavellian plan to have you betray the Maquis by addicting you to too much _magnificent_ sex. I may be a French man, but I don't believe that I am such a good lover that I can hold sway over your conscience."

"_Then what?"_

"I already told you. I _choose_ to be here. What happened on board the Vorlo ship was forced upon us by the situation. But here…" he motioned about the room, "…is where I want to be."

"What of Beverly?"

He icily withdrew. "I made her promise to let me go if I didn't return to her within a few months."

"What you're planning, Jean-Luc, could take _years _to accomplish - not months."

"I know. And I would not ask her to wait forever."

"If you'd asked either one of us that question - well I know I would be willing to wait."

"I know. But so would Beverly. That is why I could not ask that question of either of you."

She kissed him back, tasting the wine on his lips, suddenly thirsting for more. This time, their lovemaking was more varied. For one thing, after a quick encounter on the sofa, all their discarded clothing ended up on the floor. He didn't dress afterwards. Ro suspected that Jean-Luc liked walking around naked.

Once, she'd embraced him by the port windows. He took charge, as usual, and she ended up standing, braced against the portal, facing the stars, as he took her from behind. It was crude, nearly violent, but very exciting. They gazed at the stars as their personal universe exploded with more physical delights.

Then it was her turn to command, as she pleasured him. He was seated in his captain's chair. Naked, she knelt before him. He did not protest as her lips sucked his manhood. The she straddled him, and rode him until they both climaxed.

_She also had the sneaking suspicion that she'd just fulfilled one of his major, unspoken fantasies_.

For the next few hours, they concentrated on each other, as if both of them feared that this loving time would be their last time together for a very long time to come.

_And in a corner, Q was finding their conversation and subsequent matings, to be very interesting…_

_**CONTINUED IN THE SKY'S THE LIMIT: Part 2.**_


End file.
